The Hangover
by Ryan Phelan
Summary: I'm back and I've brought my first multi-chapter fic with me! In the aftermath of an epic celebration, Don and Charlie recount their not-so-proudest moments.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs, I just like to borrow its characters from time to time. **

**Who doesn't love a good drinking story? I mean the kind of drinking story where you can look back and laugh, not the kind you tearfully recount during a group therapy session. It could have happened to you, it could have happened to someone else, but the point is that they happened and that they're hilarious! Grab a drink and join me as we explore the lighter side of alcohol abuse…**

**The Hangover**

The first thing he was aware of was darkness, plus a throbbing headache that felt like his brain was trying to force its way out of his skull.

He was no stranger to this kind of pain.

He groaned in agony and lay perfectly still, knowing from experience that there was nothing he could do but wait until the pain had subsided enough for him to attempt to get up. Ten minutes later, he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes, which felt as though they had been glued together; once that hurdle had been cleared, he blinked several times until the world came back into focus.

The first thing he noticed was that he was sprawled on a couch in a living room that looked as though it had been hit with a bomb made of empty potato chip bags and beer bottles. What was he doing here? What the hell happened last night? Was he supposed to be at work right now? Waking up with a massive hangover was bad enough, but waking up with a massive hangover and a ton of questions? The sudden stab of panic rallied his remaining brain cells, and they gave him the need-to-know information. Name: Don Eppes. Location: Charlie's house. Why: the Lakers game.

The mental kick-start got the wheels in his head turning, and they summoned hazy memories of last night. It was game 7 of the NBA championship, versus Celtics. The Lakers won, didn't they? Yes, yes they did, which resulted in a booze-fueled celebration on top of an already boozy evening; it was now the morning after, and time to pay the piper. Don groaned again and forced himself into a sitting position. Another hurdle cleared. The next hurdle was somehow getting a strong cup of coffee into his hands.

Don heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and quickly tried to shake off his stupor; it wouldn't be a big deal if those footsteps belonged to Charlie or Amita, but if it was Dad…

Much to Don's surprise, the footsteps belonged to David Sinclair, who was descending the staircase dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt he'd worn the night before. Both men froze at the sight of each other; although David had been to the Craftsman many times before, this was the first time he'd stayed overnight, let alone in one of the upstairs bedrooms. This new level of familiarity was uncomfortable for both of them.

"Hey Don. I…I slept in your old room. I would have taken the couch, but you were dead to the world and Charlie said it would be okay…" David's raspy voice did little to hide his anxiety.

"David, it's fine," Don said, holding up his hand. "Would you like some coffee?"

David shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I gotta get going."

The wheels in Don's brain began turning again. Did _he_ have to go anywhere this morning? He quickly ran through his mental checklist. Did he have to work today? No, it was Sunday. Where was Robin? She was in San Francisco for a trial. Was there anything he had to do today? Finally it all clicked into place; for the first time in a long time he had a whole day with absolutely nothing to do, which was why he allowed himself to get completely hammered last night.

"Don?"

Don was jolted out of his thoughts to find David and Colby standing over him. Don blinked. Where the hell did Colby come from?

"Don, we're leaving now," David said. "I had a great time. Thanks."

"Me too," Colby added. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah…okay," Don absently replied. David and Colby then left his line of sight, and a few seconds later he heard the front door open and close.

Once again alone with his thoughts, the events of last night continued to piece together. Charlie had everyone over to the house for the Big Game. David, Colby, Liz, Nikki, and…who else? Larry? Yes, Larry was there at some point, but he left early. And what happened to Liz and Nikki? Where they still in the house somewhere?

Don heard another set of footsteps descending the stairs, and this time he didn't care if it was his father, just as long as it was someone he'd expect to see; he didn't need any more surprises this morning. The hangover gods must have decided to take pity on him, because this time Charlie came into view. Don took one look at Charlie's tangled mass of hair, bloodshot eyes and morning stubble, and greeted him the way only a big brother could.

"Hey Chuck, you look like shit. Why don't you go make some coffee?"

Shooting Don a glare that could peel paint, Charlie stomped past him and into the kitchen; a few minutes later, the smell of coffee floated into the living room. Don immediately recognized his favorite blend, a rich hazelnut from the gourmet coffee shop downtown. The heavenly scent was enough to pull Don off the couch, ignoring the protests of his aching head and body, and usher him into the kitchen. He saw Charlie sitting at the table enjoying a cup of the liquid ambrosia, and with eager anticipation grabbed the coffeepot.

To his horror, he discovered it was empty.

"Charlie, what the hell! Where's the all goddamn coffee?" Don cried. He was always short-tempered when he was hung over, and hadn't been this hung over in a long time. The only cure was coffee. He needed coffee _NOW. _

Charlie, however, was unmoved by his brother's distress. He slowly sipped his coffee, savoring every drop. "Oh, did you want some coffee, too? Sorry, there was only enough for one. But I think we might have some instant stuff in the cupboard."

Now it was Don's turn to give a paint-peeling glare; mumbling angrily under his breath, he yanked open the cupboard door and began to loudly rummage around. The clattering and clanking sounds piercing Charlie's temples like hot tiny spikes. "Do you have to be so loud?" He snapped.

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to find anything in here? It's a mess!" Don shot back. "Would it kill you to clean out this cupboard once in a while? "

"Give it a rest, Don!" Charlie snapped. "I already got an earful from Amita this morning. This house is now officially a nag-free zone." Charlie swooped his arms in big circles for emphasis.

The image of Amita yelling at Charlie greatly improved Don's mood. He found the instant coffee and put a few spoonfuls into a mug. "So where is your blushing bride today?" he smirked.

"At a teaching seminar in Anaheim," Charlie replied. "But before she left she made a point of telling me I made a complete ass of myself last night, and that it had better not still look like a frat house around here by the time she got back."

Don quickly glanced around the room. The kitchen table was littered with pizza boxes and wine glasses. A few empty wine bottles and Chinese take-out containers graced the kitchen counter. The garbage bin was overflowing with used paper plates and napkins, as well as the remains of Charlie's little "experiment."

Last night while they were all gorging themselves on the take-out, someone made the observation that Chinese restaurants didn't serve breakfast. Following this revelation, Charlie loudly declared it reprehensible that Spain and Denver had omelets named for them, but China had been denied the honor. He then set out to correct this grave injustice by creating a Chinese omelet; after several attempts involving eggs, dumplings, sweet and sour pork, and shrimp stir-fry, it was determined that China had gotten along just fine without omelets for the past 5,000 years, so why fix what wasn't broken?

Don filled the kettle in the sink, but in order to do so he first had to rearrange a pile of goo-encrusted pans. They'd used every pan in the house in pursuit of the Chinese omelet, because it had seemed easier to use a new pan for each creation rather than wash the same one over and over. Drunks were great at making messes, but not so good at cleaning them up; it was yet another little treat that awaited their sober selves.

Don put the kettle on and took a seat at the kitchen table across from Charlie. The two brothers sat in silence, each working through the pain of their hangovers, until the kettle whistled. Don got up to prepare his coffee, while Charlie looked for some sustenance in the pizza boxes; two of them turned up empty, but the last one contained a single slice of pepperoni. Charlie was about to take a bite when Don sat back down.

"That looks really good," Don said wistfully.

Charlie rolled his eyes before grabbing a knife and cutting the slice in two. He then handed one half to Don, who eagerly devoured it. The coffee and pizza infusion soon turned the throbbing in Don's head into a dull ache, and he started to feel like a human again…a tired, achy human who planned to spend the entire day lying on the couch eating junk food and watching old movies on TV. Sundays were made for hangovers.

But first, the FBI agent in him needed to ask a few questions. "So…you let David sleep in my room last night?"

Charlie contemplated his coffee mug for a moment before responding. "I didn't think it would be a big deal. You were passed out on the couch and we couldn't wake you so I…"

"Hey, it's fine, I was just wondering," Don interrupted. "And Colby spent the night, too?"

"Yeah, he crashed on the back porch. Where are they now?"

"Gone. They left together," Don replied, taking another sip of coffee.

"They left?" Charlie asked, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "Nikki's still upstairs. You'd think David would at least have the courtesy to drive her home."

Don chocked on his coffee, triggering a violent coughing fit. "Tell me you're kidding!" He gasped, staring at Charlie with watery, disbelieving eyes.

"Believe me, I wish I was," Charlie sighed, shaking his head. "She was in the shower when I got up," Charlie replied. "She must be done by now…I guess she's too embarrassed to come downstairs as long as you're here."

Don's brain began to pound against his skull again. He put his head in his hands. "This is not happening…this is not happening…" he muttered as he stared at the tabletop.

"Hey, take it easy, bro," Charlie said. "Maybe if you cleared out for about 20 minutes, I can send her home in a cab and we can all avoid any 'morning after' awkwardness. Why don't you run down to Taco Bell and pick us up some breakfast burritos?"

Don looked up and studied his brother's face; Charlie seemed sincere, but his finely tuned FBI instincts told him something was amiss. He had detected a light quiver in Charlie's voice, and now he also noticed that Charlie's eyes were shining merrily, and the edges of his mouth were curved slightly upwards. Don's scrutiny finally proved too much for Charlie, and he broke down laughing.

"That wasn't funny Charlie! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Don snapped angrily, but that only seemed to make Charlie laugh harder; there was nothing he could do except sit and stew until his conniving little brother settled down.

Finally, Charlie's laughs began to subside. "So does this mean no breakfast burritos?" He hiccupped as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Don't push it, Chuck!" Don snapped. "Seriously, that wasn't funny."

"Humor is rather subjective, don't you think?" Charlie smirked. "Remember that time you convinced me that I was a mutant, and mom and dad were going to send me away? You thought it was funny, but I sure didn't."

"Oh come on, Charlie, are you still hanging on to that? It's been 30 years! Let it go already!"

"I will, because all of those times you tortured me when we were kids has finally been avenged," Charlie happily declared. "Today will go down in history as the first time I successfully put one over on my big shot fed brother! I'll remember the look on your face until the day I die!"

"Yeah, you never forget the first time, do you?" Don muttered. Suddenly a grin spread across his face. "Speaking of first times, this reminds me of your _other_ first time."

Charlie's mood quickly sobered, and he eyed his brother warily. "What other first time?"

"Oh, I think you know which 'first time' I'm talking about," Don smirked.

"And what would you know about _that_?" Charlie asked cautiously.

"Everything," Don said. "I was there, after all."

"Were not! You are so full of it!" Charlie scoffed.

"Oh, really?" Don smirked. "Here's how it went down. Beer was involved. You were nervous, awkward, and had no idea what you were doing as you flopped around like a fish out of water."

All of the blood drained from Charlie's face, and he gripped the edge of the table. "But…that can't be right, it just…you…you were…" he muttered as his eyes glazed over.

"Right there to witness the whole thing," Don said. "And so were my friends. They thought it was hilarious." At that point Charlie looked like he was about to pass out, and Don knew it was time to put him out of his misery. "Yeah, the first time you get drunk is never pretty, is it?"

"My first time…getting drunk?" Charlie blinked.

"Of course," Don smirked. "As I recall, it involved beer, awkwardness _and_ a Laker's game, much like last night. So you can see why I was reminded of it."

"Um, yeah, sure," Charlie muttered, gulping down the last of his coffee, tilting his head far back to catch the very last drop.

"You're looking kind of pale there, Chuck," Don said innocently. "What did you think I meant?"

"Shut up, Don," Charlie grumbled as he stared angrily into his empty coffee cup. "And for the record, my first time getting drunk was a total nightmare and it was all your fault."

"Hey, I was just trying to do something nice for you for your birthday!" Don snapped. "It was a total nightmare for me too, and it was my ass on the line, not yours!"

"_You_ gave me the beer, remember?" Charlie shot back. "You have no one to blame but yourself!"

"I may have given you a few sips, but I _never_ intended for you to get drunk," Don snapped. "Allow me to refresh your memory…"

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

_March 12, 1987_

"Happy birthday dear Charrrlieee…happy birthday to yoooou!"

Don watched as his mother placed the cake in front of his little brother, whose face was shining brighter than the thirteen tiny flames dancing on the tips of the multicolored candles. Charlie was about to blow them out when Mom said, "Not so fast, honey, did you make a wish?"

Charlie deflated like a leaky balloon. "Um…no, I forgot. Give me a minute." He sat and quietly stared at the cake as if trying to think of a wish, but Don could just imagine what he was really thinking: _Why is Mom making me do this? Wishes are completely illogical! The odds of any wish actually coming true are seventy-five gazillion to one! Well, I've been quiet long enough, she should be satisfied that I've actually thought of something. All I have to do is blow out the candles and I can finally have some cake! _

Charlie took a deep breath and blew out all of the candles; everyone applauded and then watched with eager anticipation as Mom cut the cake. Don glanced at Charlie and could see that he was still hung up on the absurdity of it all, even though Dad had explained to both of them a long time ago that these things made Mom happy so they'd better "shut their cake-holes" and play along or else. Charlie often had trouble shutting his cake-hole, but today there was enough cake (and ice cream) to plug the mouth of even the most outspoken thirteen-year-old genius.

Don thought back to the very first time he'd laid eyes on his baby brother, remembering how fascinated he'd been that Charlie was so tiny. Tiny mouth, tiny fingers and toes with even tinier fingernails and toenails… everything about Charlie had been tiny except for his lungs, which he'd often demonstrated in the middle of the night. Don found it hard to believe that tiny baby was now the skinny, curly-haired kid sitting across the table from him, potty trained and everything, ready to embark on his teenage years. Charlie was just as excited about turning thirteen as Don and his friends had been at that age. Speaking of which…

Don quickly shoved the last bite of cake into his mouth. "Mom, can we do presents now? I have to be at Brian's house in twenty minutes."

"Right after everyone is finished eating," Mom replied. She still had half of her cake left, as did Dad, and Charlie had just helped himself to a second slice.

Don felt a twinge of anxiety. "But mom, the game…"

"Doesn't start for almost two hours," Mom replied. "You have plenty of time."

"But _Moom_…"

"Donald, you are not leaving until your brother's birthday party is over, understood?" Dad said sternly. "Family is more important than a basketball game."

_But not more important than a baseball game, _Don thought. He had a strong urge to bring up Aunt Irene's birthday party; his father kept sneaking off to listen to the Dodgers game on his portable radio, which resulted in an argument with Mom and a drive home made in icy silence. Luckily Don's sense of self-preservation was strong enough to resist that urge, so instead he silently stewed as his family ate; five agonizing minutes later they were finally finished, and Don hurriedly helped his mother clear the table before presenting Charlie with his present. "Here, open mine first," he said as he shoved the thin, rectangular box into Charlie's hands.

Of course, Charlie being Charlie he couldn't just open it; he carefully examined the gift and tired to guess what was inside. "Let's see…I think it's a gift certificate. Gift certificates account for approximately 17% of all birthday presents, so the odds of receiving one is about 1 in 22.8. However, when you take into account the weight and dimensions of the box the odds…"

"Charlie, sweetie, I think you've made your case," Mom interrupted. "Now let's just open it and find out."

Charlie tore off the wrapping paper, opened the box, and pulled out a piece of paper. "A ticket to tonight's Lakers game!" He gasped. He looked at Don with wide, hopeful eyes. "Does this mean I'm going with you and your friends?"

Don's heart swelled and he gave his brother a look of genuine affection. "You sure are. Happy Birthday, buddy."

Charlie started bouncing in his seat, unable to contain his excitement. "Omigosh! Thank you Donnie! Thankyou thankyou thankyou…."

"Now hold on a minute," Mom interrupted. "Don, you never told me you were planning to take Charlie to the game." She turned to her husband. "Did you know anything about this?"

"No, I didn't," Dad replied, giving his son a disapproving look. "You should have run this by us first."

Charlie jumped in before Don had a chance to respond. "Mom, Dad, this is the best birthday present ever! Please please please let me go! Pleeeease!" He begged, looking at his parents with the pleading puppy dog eyes that usually got him what he wanted.

"Yeah, what's the big deal?" Don said. "I've driven into the city lots of times. We're just going drive in, see the game, and come straight home. Promise."

Both Charlie and Don held their breath while their parents exchanged skeptical looks. Finally Dad spoke. "Okay, but be careful. I want you two to stick together from the moment you leave here **until the moment you come home, understand?" ** Dad had to raise his voice as he talked, because the moment he said okay his sons scrambled to leave as fast as they could; they jumped up from the table, grabbed their coats and ran out door, throwing a quick "yes Dad" over their shoulders before piling into the car and burning rubber out of the driveway.

...

Charlie talked, or rather babbled, the whole drive over to Brian's house. Don uttered an "uh-huh" every now and then to show he was listening, but beneath his quiet exterior he was brimming with self-congratulatory pride. He had given Charlie the perfect gift: a night out with his big brother with no parental supervision, just being "one of the guys." Charlie would probably still be talking about this birthday when he was forty.

Everything had gone according to plan. Don knew his overprotective parents would shoot the whole thing down if he'd asked them in advance, which is why he decided to surprise them along with Charlie. He also knew that Charlie would beg and plead with them to allow him to go, and that Mom and Dad, caught off guard and faced with the prospect of disappointing their favorite son, would give in. Don fully expected a stern lecture from his father later, because he always had to criticize him for something, but this time it was worth it. He mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

However, Don's mood dampened when Brian's house came into view; he and Charlie had to have a very important talk before they went inside. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and then turned to face Charlie. "Charlie, before we go inside, there's something we need to talk about," he said in his most serious tone with his most serious gaze. "You're going to see me and my friends do stuff tonight that Mom and Dad wouldn't like, so I need you to promise that you will never, ever tell them."

Charlie's smile quickly vanished. "What…kind of stuff?" He asked nervously.

"Relax, we're not going to rob a convenience store or anything," Don replied reassuringly. "We'll just be drinking a few beers, and maybe smoke a cigarette or two. That's all. It's no big deal."

Charlie's eyes widened. "But…but alcohol is really dangerous," he gulped. "Don't you remember the school assembly, where that guy in the wheelchair talked to us about how he drove drunk and crashed his car and his girlfriend got killed, and then they showed us all of those pictures of…"

"Lemme stop you right there Charlie," Don said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret…that assembly was a big steaming pile of crap."

"But that guy…"

"Was an idiot who couldn't hold his liquor," Don said. "Thousands of people drink and drive every day and nothing bad happens to them. The school is just trying to scare you into being some perfect little robot."

Charlie gaped at his big brother, unable to believe his beloved school would deceive him like that. "But what about all of that stuff on TV…"

"Same thing," Don snapped. "Trust me, Charlie, I know my limit. Nothing bad is going to happen. Promise." When Charlie still looked uncertain Don added, "look, if you're so worried about it I'll just drop you off at home and…"

"No!" Charlie cried. "No, I'm okay, Donnie, really. Let's just go inside."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay then," Don smiled, opening the driver's side door. "Let's go have some fun!"

...

They entered Brian's house and made their way down to the basement, or as Don liked to call it, Heaven on Earth. It had a pool table, a bar, a big screen TV complete with all of the premium cable channels, and a smaller TV in the corner for playing Nintendo. Brian's parents were divorced and his mom was often busy working or whatever, so they usually had the place to themselves; Don pitied all the kids who weren't lucky enough to have such a cool best friend.

Brian was sitting on the couch watching _The Terminator_ and drinking a beer. Peter, the other friend coming to the game, was sitting in the beanbag chair in the video game corner playing _Mike Tyson's_ _Punch-Out!_ and also drinking a beer. "Hey guys, sorry I'm late," Don said, flopping down on the couch next to Brian. "Hope you saved me a beer."

Brian laughed. "Of course we did. Gotta keep our ride happy." Seconds later Don was cracking open a Budweiser; he was nearly halfway through it before he noticed that Charlie was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking more than a little uncomfortable.

"Guys, you remember that my little brother is coming with us today?" Don asked his friends, who mumbled something that sounded like yes. "Come sit down, Chuck," Don said. Charlie obeyed and sat in an easy chair adjacent to the couch. "Do you want a soda or something?" Charlie shook his head, and Don turned his attention back to TV and beer.

They were quietly engrossed in the movie for nearly an hour, the silence occasionally being broken by Peter as he cursed Mike Tyson; as the closing credits rolled the boys began to stir, blinking and stretching their arms and legs. "Man, that movie is so awesome!" Brian said. "Arnold Schwarzenegger has made a lot of awesome movies, but The Terminator is by far his most awesome movie ever!"

"I don't know about that," Don said. "The Terminator's awesome and all, but I think Raw Deal is his best movie."

"No way!" Brian gaped. "I mean, that movie was awesome and everything, but there's no way it's more awesome than The Terminator!"

Don shrugged. "I don't know. It seems that everyone's so in love with The Terminator that they don't appreciate the awesomeness of Raw Deal."

"Maybe that's because The Terminator is just so much better!" Brian snapped. "It made way more money than Raw Deal!"

"So what?" Don snapped. "Just because it made more money doesn't mean it's better!"

"Actually, it's all about trends," Charlie said, which nearly caused Don to jump out of his skin; he'd forgotten his little brother was even there. Charlie's eyes darted nervously between the two older boys as he continued. "Trends are like roller coasters…they have their peaks and dips, or highs and lows. Science fiction movies like The Terminator were real popular in the 50's but their popularity peaked in the 60's and went downhill, until Star Wars came out and it started to rise again. Conversely, action movies starring cops or spies were popular in the 60's and 70's but started declining around the early 80's. If you put the two roller coasters together, you'd see that one peaks at the same time the other dips…." Charlie trailed off, noticing the blank expressions on the other boys' faces. "Anyway, popularity and box office gross don't necessarily reflect the quality of a movie, so it's safe to say that both movies are awesome in their own right," he hastily concluded.

"GODDAMMIT TOHELL!" Peter yelled, followed by a _thunk_ when the controller hit the TV screen.

"Hey! Don't break my stuff!" Brain yelled.

"This game izz impossible," Peter slurred angrily before draining his beer and carelessly tossing it on the floor with the others. "Do you know anyone whocan beatthis game? Becauze I don't!"

"Shutup Peter, you're drunk," Brian snapped. "We gotta get going. Help me clean up." He pulled a trash bag from behind the bar and began collecting the empties.

Peter didn't respond; after a long moment, he reached for the controller.

"Peter, leave the Nintendo alone," Brian said. Peter started a new game. "Dude, stop playing right now or I swear to god I'll kick your ass!" Still Peter ignored him. "Dude, you have until the count of three. One…"

"Brian, chill out already!" Don snapped. He turned to his brother. "Charlie, help Peter beat Mike Tyson. Don't give me that look, just use that math magic you're always showing off." He then turned to Brian. "While he's doing that you clean up and don't be a jerk about it. I'm going to the bathroom, and when I get back we'll hit the road, okay? Okay." Without waiting for a response, he stomped up the stairs to the guest bathroom.

Don relieved himself, then washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. He looked in the mirror and quickly took stock: no glassy eyes, no double vision, and no dazed expression. Perfect. He had a nice buzz going and he was still in good shape to drive; provided Brian and Peter had gotten their shit together while he was gone, they were good to go.

Don then thought of Charlie and suddenly wondered if leaving him alone with those two had been a good idea. Not that he thought his friends would do anything bad to his little brother, but Charlie could get very nervous when he was outside his comfort zone, and hanging out with the big kids at one of their houses while they were drinking definitely fell into that category. Plus, Peter could be a real asshole when he was drunk. Don hurried back to the basement.

The last thing Don expected as he descended the stairs was the sound of jovial voices; Peter, Brian and Charlie were all at the bar, talking and laughing while Brian poured three shots of tequila. "What's going on?" Don asked.

"I beat Tysson!" Peter exclaimed. "And it's all thankss to your brother!"

"Yeah, it was amazing!" Brian added. "It was like Peter was Rocky Balboa and Charlie was Mickey. Charlie was like, 'left hook! Right hook! Uppercut! Uppercut!' and Peter would do it, and then Tyson went down!"

"And now we selllebrate," Peter declared. He picked up two shot glasses and held one out to Charlie.

"No! No way in hell!" Don cried. He hurried over to the bar and took the shot glass from Peter. "Charlie, you are not drinking this."

"Aw, c'mon Don, it's his birthday!" Brian said. "Thirteen is a pretty big deal."

"Yeah, an you guys are Jewissh, so that meanz heez a man now!" Peter declared.

"Right! At least let him have a beer," Brian said. He grinned at Charlie. "You earned it, didn't you, kid?"

"Yeah I did!" Charlie exclaimed, beaming at Don with newfound confidence.

Don wordlessly cracked open a can of Bud and handed it to Charlie. Then he took a shot glass and raised it in a toast, as did Peter and Brian. "Lakers! Whohoooo!" They cried before clinking their glasses and downing the tequila. The three of them then looked at Charlie, who had yet to take a sip.

Charlie hesitantly sniffed the beer and instinctively drew back, his nose wrinkling in distaste, causing the older boys to snicker. Charlie glared at them before quickly bringing the can to his lips and taking a huge gulp. He immediately starting coughing and gagging; Don took the beer from him and thumped him on the back while Brian and Peter roared with laughter. Charlie regained his composure after about a minute, though his eyes were watery and his cheeks were flushed.

"You okay, Chuck? Do you want some water?" Don asked. He tried but failed to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"No! I want to finish my beer!" Charlie snapped, grabbing at the can in Don's hand.

"Okay, okay, that's fine," Don said, handing it back to him. "But no more big gulps. Take little sips."

"C'mon, guys, lezz go!" Peter snapped, suddenly getting impatient. "The game startz soon!"

Don quickly threw the remaining empties into the trash bag while Brian filled a silver flask with rum from the bar. The group then headed upstairs, where Brian, Peter and Charlie used the bathroom before they all piled into the car. Don popped a stick of gum into his mouth and glanced at his brother in the rearview mirror; Charlie was gripping his beer with both hands and had a lazy grin on his face. "How are you doing, buddy?" He asked. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm great, Donnie!" Charlie chirped. "Let's go!"

Don studied his brother carefully. Charlie was definitely feeling the beer, but he still sounded okay; there was plenty of time for him to enjoy his buzz and still sober up before they got home. Don made a mental note to stuff his brother full of soda and hot dogs at the game, and then started the engine; loud whoops and hollers filled the car as it pulled out of the driveway and headed towards downtown Los Angeles.

...

By the time they pulled into the stadium, parked, bought snacks and sodas at the concession stand, hid in the bathroom pouring rum from Brian's flask into three of the four sodas, kicked some people out of their seats and settled in, the first quarter was over, with the Lakers leading 28 to 22. Don sat in the aisle seat, then Charlie, then Brian, and then Peter. The Lakers were playing the Houston Rockets, the team they had lost to in the Finals last season, and the fans were still holding a grudge; everyone booed angrily when the Rockets scored, and cheered maniacally when the Lakers scored. By the end of the second quarter Don's voice was hoarse. "Damn, Magic is on fire!" he rasped. "He's going to go down in history as the greatest Laker ever!"

"Are you kidding?" Brian snapped. "Kareem is the greatest Laker ever!"

"Kareem's old!" Don snapped. "He only scored 8 points this quarter! Pathetic!"

"Maybe Magic is the best player right now, but in 20 years when people are comparing their careers, Kareem will win hands down!" Brian snapped.

"Why wait 20 years? Charlie can tell us right now!" Don snapped. He nudged his brother, who was staring intently at the court. "Hey Charlie, who's better, Magic or Kareem?" When Charlie didn't respond Don nudged him harder. "C'mon, Charlie, tell Brian why Magic is so much better than Kareem!"

Charlie gave Don a not-so-friendly nudge back. "Shuttup! I'm watchin' the game!"

Don blinked in surprise. Charlie was more interested in a basketball game than statistics? Charlie was shoving his big brother and telling him to shut up knowing full well that it could buy him a pretty vicious noogie? There was no time to dwell on these thoughts; a thunderous cheer signaled the start of the third quarter, and Don turned his attention back to the game.

As he watched the players run up and down the court, Don realized that his life was, at that very moment, perfect. He was at a Lakers game nurturing a damn good buzz, one that wasn't too weak or too strong, but juuust right. The Lakers were kicking ass like they had been all season and everyone just _knew_ they would win the championship this year. He was there with his two best friends, guys he'd known since eighth grade, and with whom he'd shared some of the best times of his life. But best of all, much to his surprise, was that he was having fun with his little brother; spending time with Charlie wasn't easy due to the fact that he was so much younger _and_ smarter than him, but today proved it was possible. Charlie was drinking, shoving, mouthing off, and hanging out and watching a game without analyzing it to death, just like one of the guys. _Charlie's not just a genius, he's also a kid who likes normal stuff that normal kids like_, Don mused. _Maybe I need to remember that more often. Maybe then we could have more good times like today…_

"Don! DON!" Brian yelled. "Your brother's throwing up!"

Don looked at Charlie, and his buzz-fueled tranquility shattered into a million pieces when he saw his brother's head between his knees and a puddle of vomit slowly spreading between his feet. "Charlie? Charlie, are you okay?" He asked, putting his arm around him and giving him a little shake. No answer. Don shook Charlie a little harder and repeated the question; all he got in response was a low moan, which propelled him into full-blown panic mode.

"Guys, we gotta go!" Don cried. Brian and Peter began to protest but he quickly cut them off. "Charlie and I are leaving right now! You can either come with us or you can find your own way home!" He pulled Charlie's arm around his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. Charlie stumbled along as his brother half-carried him up the stairs; they made it to the top and hurried towards the exit, Don silently praying that they could get to the car without anyone noticing them.

"Don…Donniie?" Charlie slurred. "Donnie Imgonna…" words were suddenly replaced by dry-heaves, which was Don's cue to usher Charlie into the nearest men's bathroom and stick his head over a toilet. They made it just in time; Charlie grabbed both sides and hung on for dear life, alternately puking and gasping for air as Don rubbed his back reassuringly. Soon the stall reeked of beer and vomit.

Don's mind spun as he desperately tried to figure out what the hell happened. Charlie only had one beer. One lousy beer couldn't possibly have made him this sick…could it?

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door of the stall, and Don's heart stopped; it only resumed beating when he heard a familiar voice. "Dude, are you in there?" Brian asked. "What's taking so long?"

Don banged open the door and shot Brian a look that could melt steel. "My little brother is puking his guts out! " He snarled. "He's so goddamn drunk he can barely stand up! I can't take him home like this! What am I going to do? What the HELL am I going to do?"

Brian quickly threw a hand up. "Whoa, take a chill pill Don, I'll help you sober up the kid. See if you can get him to drink something." He thrust his other hand at Don, which contained a soda.

Don eyed the cup suspiciously. "You sure that's just soda? It's not mine or yours, is it?"

"Of course not! I'm not stupid!" Brian huffed defensively. "It's Charlie's soda. I tossed our sodas, and Peter still has his!"

Don took the cup and was surprised to find it was nearly full. He lifted the lid and took a sniff; satisfied that it was just soda, he held the cup next to Charlie's bowed head. "Here Charlie, drink this," he said.

"Nooooo," Charlie moaned. "No moresssooda!"

Don's nerves were frayed to the breaking point. "Charlie, if Mom and Dad see you like this we're both dead meat!" He snapped. "Either you drink this damn soda or I will pour it down your throat!"

"NO!" Charlie wailed, pushing Don's hand away. "I drank lotssa ssoda before, I dunwan anymore!"

"Charlie, what the hell are you talking about? Your soda is…" Don stopped cold when something horrible occurred to him. "Charlie, did you drink from my cup, or Brian's?"

"It's my birssday, I'll drink whatiwant," Charlie groaned.

Suddenly Don put it all together. Charlie had been sitting between him and Brian; they had both been so focused on the game that they wouldn't have noticed if he took a few sips from their cups. Of course, knowing _how_ Charlie got so drunk didn't help make him _not_ drunk.

Don's mind began to race. The fourth quarter was about to start, so the game would be over pretty soon; factoring in the traffic following the game, he figured he had about an hour and a half before his parents started to worry. He didn't know if that was enough time to sober Charlie up, but he sure as hell was willing to try. "C'mon, Charlie, we're leaving," he said, hoisting his brother to his feet.

The two older boys quickly hustled Charlie out of the arena and to the car, where they found Peter sitting on the hood smoking a cigarette. "Jeezus, what took you guys so long?" He griped.

Fortunately for Peter, Don was too concerned about his brother to deliver the blow to his friend's chops that he so richly deserved; instead, he gritted his teeth and unlocked the car. "Get in," he growled.

The drive back to Brian's house was made in tense silence; two of the boys were wondering what they would do if Brian's mom was home, one was annoyed at missing the rest of the game, and one was fading in and out of consciousness. Upon arriving at the house Don sighed with relief at the sight of an empty driveway; they quickly ushered Charlie inside and laid him down on the couch. Don checked his watch and saw that they had about forty-five minutes left; there was no way Charlie would be totally sober by then, but hopefully he'd sleep it off enough to give an impression of sobriety.

"Hey, man, you've done all you can for now, sit down and watch some TV," Brian said from the easy chair. Peter was back in the video game corner playing another round of _Punch-Out!_

Don sat down next to Charlie, but TV was the last thing on his mind. He thought back to his own thirteenth birthday, which had also been a complete disaster; what was supposed to be the most awesome camping trip ever turned into a nightmare when Charlie disappeared. It had been the worst night of his life, listening to his mother's sobs and his friends' awkward attempts to console him while horrible visions of Charlie lying dead somewhere kept running through his head; then Charlie was found safe and sound and his relief soon turned into resentment, which had been festering in the back of his mind ever since.

Don cursed himself for taking Charlie with him to the game. Charlie always ruined everything; why did he think tonight would be any different? Don took a few deep breaths and reminded himself that he only had to suffer for a few more months, and then they would both be graduating and Charlie would be moving to the other side of the country to attend Princeton. Then he would finally be free…

Suddenly the phone began to ring, shooting fear though his body like a lightening bolt. "Don't answer that!" Don cried out to Brian, who nodded in understanding and took his hand off the receiver.

Five long agonizing rings later the phone went silent; Don barely had time to sigh in relief before the basement door opened. "Brian? Are you down there?" A female voice called out.

Both boys stared at each other in silent fear. "Mom? When did you get home?" Brain asked, trying to sound as calm and sober as possible.

"A minute ago. Is Don down there?"

Brian shot a quick glace at Don, who hesitated before saying, "yes Mrs. Carter, I'm here." Brian's mom then uttered the words that Don had been dreading…

"Your father's on the phone."

Don steadied himself, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver. "Hi Dad," he said in the most non-terrified voice he could muster.

"Don, you were supposed to come home right after the game. Do you now what time it is?" Don felt himself relax a bit; his father sounded mildly irritated at best. He could definitely handle mildly irritated.

"Yeah, I know what time it is, Dad," Don casually replied. We got back to Brian's place about ten minutes ago. We were just about to leave."

"How's Charlie? Did he have a good time?"

"Yeah, he had a great time," Don said, silently praying that his father wouldn't ask to speak to Charlie.

"All right, then. See you soon."

"Yeah, see ya," Don replied before hanging up. He reached over and gave his brother a little shake. "Charlie? Charlie wake up. We gotta get going."

Charlie stirred, but he did not sit up. "Wanna sleep," he muttered.

Don grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him into a sitting position. "Charlie, Mom and Dad are waiting for us. You can sleep when we get home, okay?" Charlie blinked sluggishly but didn't respond. "After we get home you can go right to bed, but I need you to stay awake for just a little while longer, okay?" Charlie nodded and slowly stood up. Don grasped his shoulder and guided him to the stairs, turning briefly to say goodbye to his friends. Brian gave him a sympathetic look and wished him good luck, while Peter mumbled a quick bye and waved. Minutes later Charlie was safely strapped into the passenger seat, and Don was behind the wheel; there was nothing left to do but start the all-too-short drive to his doom.

...

About five minutes from home Don decided to make one last ditch attempt at sobering Charlie up; he pulled into a 7-11 and was in and out in less than a minute with a can of ginger ale. "Here, Charlie, drink," he said, cracking open the soda. Charlie took it without protest, and sipped it slowly. Don leaned over and sniffed his brother; much to his relief, he couldn't detect any hint of beer or barf. "How are you feeling?" He asked anxiously.

"Okay," Charlie muttered. He sounded better; there was a good chance their parents would think he was just worn out from his big night in the city, if Charlie could just be cool. It was time for another serious talk.

"Charlie, when we get home, go straight to bed," Don said. "If Mom and Dad talk to you, just say you're tired and you want to go to bed. Then go to bed. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it," Charlie replied. He stared down at the soda can. "Don, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Charlie," Don sighed as he turned on the engine.

"No, it's not!" Charlie snapped. Then suddenly he began to cry. "I always ruin everything! I'm such a loser!"

"What? No Charlie, it's okay, really," Don tried to be soothing, but for some reason it only made Charlie cry harder.

"It's not okay!" Charlie cried. "I embarrass you at school. I embarrass you in front of your friends, I ruined _your _thirteenth birthday, and the one time you try to do something nice for me, I ruin that too. No wonder you hate me!"

There had been many, many times when Don had resented his brother, even going so far as to wish he'd never been born, but having his own thoughts projected back to him through his little brother's sobs made him very ashamed…and very determined to prove Charlie wrong.

"Charlie…Charlie, listen to me. Please?" Charlie quieted down and looked at Don with large, sorrowful eyes. "Tonight wasn't your fault. Drinking can go from being fun to being a nightmare if you're not careful. I should have explained that to you but I didn't. I gave you alcohol without showing you the right way to drink; you didn't know any better, but I did. It's my fault you got sick, so don't blame yourself, okay?" Charlie nodded slowly, and Don paused for a moment before adding, "and…I'm sorry if I ever made you feel bad at school. High school sucks for everybody, trust me."

But Charlie wasn't about to be placated so easily. "What about your thirteenth birthday?" He countered. "You were so excited about camping out with your friends, but I came along and ruined everything, as usual. You didn't speak to me for weeks after that!"

Don took a deep breath. "That wasn't your fault either. It's not like you got lost on purpose."

"You don't really believe that," Charlie snapped. "It was my fault and you know it!"

"No it wasn't Charlie!" Don snapped back. "Everybody knows thirteen is an unlucky number."

"Give me a break!" Charlie sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "That's just a stupid superstition."

Don sighed. "Charlie, think about it for a minute. Both my thirteenth birthday and your thirteenth birthday were a disaster. What are the odds of that?"

"Since I was the common denominator in both events, pretty good," Charlie answered bitterly.

"So what? I was the common denominator too!" Don snapped. He was all out of sympathy. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just accept the fact that sometimes shit happens!"

Charlie took a long drink of soda and then said, "I did have a lot of fun tonight, at least until…you know. Thanks for bringing me along."

"You're welcome," Don replied. "I had fun too."

"So you're not mad at me?"

"No I'm not, buddy. How are you feeling? Ready to face Mom and Dad?"

"I still feel kinda weird, but mostly tired," Charlie replied. The slurring was almost gone, and his eyes were brighter. He gave Don a weak smile. "Let's go."

...

Five minutes later they were home. Like a basketball coach with thirty seconds left in the game, Don pelted Charlie with instructions right up until they reached the door. "Just act casual. If they ask questions, give short answers. Don't volunteer a lot of information; just say you're tired and go to bed. Got it? " Charlie nodded, and Don took a deep breath and put the key in the lock. "It's go time."

They entered the hallway and walked over to the living room, where both parents were reading. Dad was the first to look up from his book. "Did you boys have fun?" He asked.

"Yeah, we had a great time," Don smiled. "Right, Charlie?"

"We sure did!" Charlie said. He headed for the stairs. "Well, goodnight!"

"Not so fast Charlie," Mom said. "Come in here and tell us all about it."

Charlie exchanged nervous glances with Don, and then slowly walked into the living room and stood in front of his parents. "So who won?" Dad asked.

Don's heart started to pound; he'd been so busy trying to sober Charlie up that he'd missed the final score. What if Charlie picked the wrong team? If Mom or Dad found out they'd know something was up. They'd start asking questions and the truth would come out and Don would be shipped off to the Army instead of…

"The Lakers won," Charlie replied. "Well, goodnight!" He turned to leave.

"Whoa, what's the rush, son?" Dad asked. "Are you feeling all right?"

Don's heart pounded even harder; he didn't think he could handle much more of this, although if Mom and Dad put two and two together he was a dead man anyway. He held his breath as Charlie turned to face their parents again.

"It was a really exciting game. Don bought me soda and hot dogs and nachos and I cheered until my throat hurt and I'm better now, but I'm really tired." Charlie yawned as if to prove his point.

"All right, why don't you head up to bed, sweetie," Mom said.

"Okay," Charlie replied and went straight for the stairs; he was halfway to the second floor before he stopped and looked down at his parents. "Thanks for letting me go," he grinned before disappearing upstairs.

"Well, I think I'll turn in too," Don said, turning to leave.

"Wait a minute, Don," Dad said. Don froze momentarily, and then turned back to his father. "Thank you for doing this for Charlie. It really meant a lot to him." He exchanged glances with Mom before adding, "I'm sorry we overreacted before. Next time just let us know in advance, okay?"

"Uh…sure, okay," Don blinked. "Well, see you tomorrow." He went upstairs and ducked into the bathroom before stopping by Charlie's room; the kid was lying facedown on the bed, clad only in his underwear. "Charlie? How ya doing, Buddy?"

"Fine, except that I'm really tired and nobody will let me go to sleep," Charlie mumbled irritably.

"Oh, Okay, sorry," Don chuckled. "But first you need to take some aspirin. Here." Charlie looked up and saw his brother holding out two aspirin and a cup of water, which he gratefully accepted. "Drink the whole cup, and when you wake up drink another cup. It makes a big difference, trust me."

Charlie finished the water and put the cup on his nightstand. "Thanks again for taking me to the game," he said as he settled back into bed.

"You're welcome," Don replied. Then something occurred to him. "Charlie? Just one quick question…we left the arena before the game ended. How do you know the Lakers won? Did you do some fast calculations in your head?"

Charlie looked up again and gave Don a lopsided grin. "No, I know they won because the Lakers are _awesome!_" With that, he dropped his head back into the pillow and promptly fell asleep.

Don smiled fondly at the small figure on the bed, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and wonder; after a long moment he quietly left the room, turning out the lights and pulling the door shut behind him.

...

"Okay, so maybe you didn't exactly pour the alcohol down my throat," Charlie grumbled. "But what the hell did you expect? You and your friends were pounding down the drinks like it was no big deal. I was just trying to fit in."

Don could feel his headache returning. "Charlie, can we not do this?" He asked. "It was a long time ago. I'd like to think we're at the point where all of that crap doesn't matter anymore."

"You're right, we've spent way too much time focusing on the negatives and not the positives," Charlie replied. "Things got pretty hairy that night, but we pulled it together, Mom and Dad never found out what really happened, and now it's an amusing story we can tell our friends."

"Yeah, that's true," Don mused. "But we still don't tell Dad about it, ever. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I'll just put it in my mental 'Don't Tell Dad' file. I've been doing it since I was three years old and I gotta say, that file is getting pretty thick," Charlie smirked.

"I don't ask you to keep a lot of things from Dad," Don said defensively.

Charlie's smirk widened. "Maybe not now, but when we were kids it was practically your mantra. Allow me to give you a typical example…

_**TBC…**_


	3. Chapter 3

_January 1, 1990_

Archie: I'm in big trouble, Jughead! I told Betty _and _Veronica I'd take them to the Homecoming Dance! What am I going to do?

Jughead _(eating a hamburger)_: The way I see it, you have two options. One, you could go with Betty and Veronica kills you, or two, you go with Veronica and Betty kills you. I guess it all depends on how you want to die.

Archie _(annoyed)_: Thanks a lot, Jughead. You're a big help.

Jughead: Hey, I've tried to tell you that girls are nothing but trouble, but you never listen! Pops, can I get another hamburger?

Pops: Not until you pay for the last six you've eaten!

Jughead: That's it, Arch! If you pay for my hamburgers, then you won't have enough dough to take anyone to the dance! It's win-win!

Archie: _Sigh._

Charlie flipped ahead to the end of the comic book. Predictably, Archie tried to take both Betty and Veronica to the dance without either of them knowing, but his plan backfired; the girls ended up leaving the dance together, and leaving Archie lying against an overturned table with a punchbowl on his head. The young genius pondered the nature of Betty and Veronica's relationship; one minute they were bitter rivals, the next minute they were best friends. They were...enemy-friends? Enefriends? Friend-enemies? Or maybe…

Charlie shook his head in disgust and tossed the comic book onto the weather-beaten couch. What was he doing? The whole reason he was in the garage in the middle of the night was to get a jumpstart on his New Year's Resolution. Earlier that evening, as he'd sat in the living room watching _Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve_ with his parents, he'd resolved to stop procrastinating and tackle the equations Professor Fleinardt had given him to work on over winter break. After the ball dropped his parents went to bed, and he headed out back to his workspace.

The one drawback to having his workspace in the garage was that it was filled with boxes and boxes of family heirlooms, memorabilia, knickknacks, trinkets, odds and ends, stuff and junk; they beckoned to him, inviting him to open them up and rifle through their contents. Charlie tried to ignore their pull and focus on the math, but when he caught sight of a box with the words _Don's comics_ written on the side, it was all over.

Charlie glanced at his watch and was startled to see that it was 2 a.m. He'd been in the garage nearly two hours; by his calculations, he'd spent 12.36 minutes on his homework and the other 90. 24 minutes reading comic books. Feeling a sudden surge of determination, he walked over to the chalkboard, grabbed a piece of chalk and stared intently at the incomplete equations before him, ready to dive right in and…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car quickly pulling into the driveway and screeching to a halt. Charlie knew that sound meant Don had just arrived home from a night of partying with his friends; next there would be some loud drunken banter, followed by the car pulling out and the front door opening and closing (and a very "tired" Don lying on the couch watching TV all day tomorrow). Right on schedule the sound of drunken banter floated across the lawn into the garage, followed by a car pulling out and driving away. Charlie listened for the sound of the front door opening and closing, but it never came. The silence made him uneasy; he knew if he didn't hear the front door within 15 seconds of the car pulling out, it meant that Don was…

"HAPPY NEW YEAR CHUCKIE!" A very loud and very drunk voice cried out. Charlie groaned inwardly and turned around to find Don standing in the doorway hanging onto either side of the frame, a sloppy grin on his face. "Howzit goin Buddy?" He slurred.

"What do you want, Don?" Charlie sighed. He was _not_ in the mood for this.

"Geez, can't I jusst comein here and wish my lil brother a Happy New Year?" Don asked. He stumbled over to the couch and sat down, then shifted to the left to retrieve the object underneath his butt. "Archie? You read _Archie_ comicsss?" He snorted.

Charlie's cheeks flushed. "It's _your_ comic! I got it from a box of your stuff!" He snapped, pointing to the open box next to the couch.

"Dude, I haven't read Archie sinz I waz ten." Don scoffed. He quietly flipped through the comic for a minute. "Archez always trying to choose between Betty and Veronica, but I know what he shoulddo." He grinned at Charlie. "You know what he shoulddo?"

"What?" Charlie sighed.

"Archie should marry Veronica an bang Betty on the side. Then when Veronica findzout and divorciz him, he gets haff her stuff. Then hecan date Betty and bang Veronica on the side. Bang, Bang, Bang!" Don giggled, shooting finger guns at Charlie.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I can see two problems with that scenario," he replied. "One, Archie would probably have to sign a prenuptial agreement, thus eliminating any chance of a big payday. Second, I doubt Veronica would want anything to do with Archie after he cheats on her."

"Nottrue kiddo, and I'll tell you why," Don replied. "One, thankz to women's lib, women are equals now. That meanz everything gets split 50/50 in the divorz. Second, Veronica will totally let Archie keep banging her because shehaz major daddy issues. Chicks with daddy issues are total slutz," he smirked.

"Okay, thanks for the tip," Charlie said. "Look, it's pretty late. Maybe we should call it a night."

"Not yet, we haven't hadda chanze to talk. Siddown." Don said, slapping the seat next to him. Charlie reluctantly walked over and sat next to Don, who threw his arm around Charlie's shoulder and pulled him close. "So howya doin' Buddy?" Don slurred.

"Okay," Charlie answered, hoping to get the conversation over with as soon as possible.

"Howsschool?"

"School's fine."

"Are you having fun?"

"Sure."

"Whassit like?"

"What's school like?"

"What's the East Coast like?" Don said. "Whatssit like to have four seasons?"

"Seasons?" Charlie blinked. "Umm…you mean as in winter, spring, summer, fall?"

"No, I mean the _other_ four seasons!" Don replied, rolling his eyes. "Serioushly, whassit like? Whatssnow like? Didja know I only saw snow once when I wassix?"

"No kidding," Charlie said.

"No kidding! I wassix, and you were one. Mom andad took us to visit their friends in Lake Tahoe. Their names were Ted…no, _Ed_ and Valerie. Me an dad and Ed went skiing, and Mom and Valerie took you an Starlight sledding…"

"Wait, Starlight?" Charlie blinked. "They took me Starlight sledding?"

"No, dummy! Starlight waz Ed an Valerie's daughter," Don giggled. They were hipeeeeezzz!"

"I don't remember any of that," Charlie said slowly as he processed this new information. "How come Mom and Dad never talk about them?"

"They stopped hanging out with those guys aloong time ago," Don said wistfully. "It's too bad, they were alotta fun."

Charlie silently racked his brain, but he couldn't find any memories of Ed, Valerie, or Starlight. He knew that as the youngest member of the Eppes clan there was a rather sizable chunk of family history he'd missed out on, from his parents meeting, falling in love and getting married, to Don's birth and the five subsequent years until his own birth. However, learning that he'd been present for events that he had no memory of really bothered him; as a child prodigy there were so many things he'd missed out on within his own peer group, and the sudden revelation that he'd also missed out on things within his own family was depressing to say the least. He made another attempt to escape. "It's been great catching up Don, I'm pretty tired. I think I'll turn in." Charlie said. He tried to get up but Don held him firmly in his grip.

"C'mon, stay with me awhile," Don pleaded. "You've been home almost twoweeks an weev hardly spent anetime together."

"Well, we've both been busy," Charlie replied. "Me with my studies, you catching up with your friends…"

Don's face dropped. "Yeah, my friends," he muttered bitterly.

His bother's sudden mood swing caught Charlie by surprise, and he was intrigued; a part of him said let it go, but his inquisitive side won out. "What's the matter? Didn't you and Peter and Brian have fun tonight?"

"Oh yeah, we hadda goodtime," Don replied quickly. "It's just that…I dunno, things aren't like they were before. Peter'san asshole…I mean he was always kinda an asshole, but now he's allot worse. I think it's becassadat fraternity he joined. He's always going onanon about it, like he's the only guy whoever joined a fraternity before. An Brian thinks he's soooo smart 'cause he goes to Yale. You're allot smarter than he is but you don't go around rubbing people's noses innit, do you?" Don smiled at Charlie and squeezed his shoulder. "You're sucha good brother, an I totally take you for granted. That's not right."

As Don rambled on, Charlie found himself feeling very confused. Don, Peter, and Brian had been inseparable since the sixth grade, and just this past summer they seemed to be having the time of their lives. What had happened between then and now? Equally troubling was Don's sloppy sentimental babbling. Charlie had tried for years to establish a sense of camaraderie between them, only to be rebuffed time and time again; now here Don was, treating him like his best buddy in the world, and it felt weird. What the hell was going on?

"…so whaddaya think? Wanna dooit?"

The small part of Charlie's brain that was still listening to Don alerted him that his brother had asked him a question. "Um…sorry, what?" He asked.

Don laughed. "That's my lil brother, always off inhis own lil world. I said that we shouldhav our own holiday to celebrate, just the two of us. We can callit 'Brother's Day.' So whaddaya think?"

"Okay…sure," Charlie replied cautiously. "When do you want to do it?"

"Right now!" Don chirped. He released his grip on Charlie and began to dig through his pockets, pulling out a can of beer, two soft tacos from Taco Bell, and one very squished package of Reeses peanut butter cups. "Okay, this will be our traditional Brother's Day feast." He declared as he handed Charlie a taco and cracked open the beer. He took a swig and offered it to Charlie, who felt his stomach cramp up; ever since his first experience with alcohol nearly three years ago, the mere sight of it was enough to make him nauseous. He tried to decline, but Don wouldn't hear of it.

"C'mon, izza tradition now, and you shood never break tradition," Don declared. "Butchoo do need a glass, so we can have a toast cause that's tradition too. Now where can we getchoo a glass?" Don got up and walked over to their father's workbench. He emptied out a mason jar full of screws and bolts, wiped the inside of the jar with his shirt, and returned to the couch. He then poured half of the beer into the jar and offered it to Charlie, who reluctantly accepted.

Don raised his beer, and Charlie followed suit. "Happy Brother's Day, Buddy. Here's to a new holiday, a new year, and a new decade. The '90's are going to be FUCKING AWESOME!" They clinked beers and Don knocked his back in one gulp.

Charlie took a small sip before putting his glass down on the floor where Don couldn't see it, all while trying to quell the flip-flops going on in his stomach. After they'd eaten the tacos and the peanut butter cups, he tried again to excuse himself. "Well, that was a lot of fun, but I'm beat. Why don't we call it a night?"

"No, not yet!" Don cried. "We haven't exchanged presents!"

"Presents? What presents?" Charlie snapped. He appreciated Don's clumsy attempts to bond with him, but enough was enough. "I don't have a present for you, Don, and I know you don't have one for me. So let's just go to bed." He got up from the couch and headed towards the door.

"No! Charlie, wait! Wait! Wait wait wait aminnite!" Don cried. "I havea present for you! Just waittaminute!" He leaned over and dug around in his box of comics before pulling one out and handing it to Charlie. "Here you go. I know you always really liked thissone."

Charlie's eyes widened. Don was giving him _The Incredible Hulk_ #181, the issue where the now-iconic character Wolverine made his first appearance. Charlie remembered how much he'd loved reading Don's comics when he was little, especially the one he was now holding in his hands. He'd read it so often that he used to be able to recite it from memory. He probably still could. Charlie was touched that Don would remember something like that; maybe he wasn't such a self-centered jerk after all. "Don…this is a really great gift. Thanks. But I didn't get you anything. I mean, I would have if I'd known we were going to have the first annual Brother's Day celebration, but…"

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlieee…you're not getting the point of Brother's Day," Don said, shaking his head. "The presents don't madder, what madders izzat it's the thought that counts." Suddenly his face lit up. "I hava great idea! Let's make it a rule that you can't buy prezzents for Brother's Day. You have to give something you alreadyown. That'll make it more special."

Don's great idea gave Charlie a great idea. "Well, I don't have anything here in the garage. Why don't we go inside and look for something in my room?"

"Great! Lessgo!" Don exclaimed. He jumped up off the couch, only to sway drunkenly before collapsing onto it again. He sat motionless, head bowed, for so long that Charlie grew concerned.

"Don? DON!" Don lifted his head and looked at Charlie with glassy eyes. "We're going into the house now, okay?" Charlie said, holding out his hand. Don grasped it and with Charlie's help pulled himself off of the couch, but then he just stood there swaying listlessly. Charlie blew out a frustrated breath and pulled Don along as he headed out of the garage, his big brother obediently following like an exhausted child ready for bed.

They walked across the lawn and up the steps of the back porch. Suddenly Don began to moan. "Charlieeee….I'm gonna…I gotta…" he was unable to finish the sentence, but nothing more needed to be said.

"Okay, okay, Donnie, just hold on," Charlie said as he threw the door open, wincing as it banged against the wall. He dragged Don through the kitchen towards the downstairs bathroom; they were halfway there when Don suddenly pulled free and latched onto the counter with both hands, leaning dangerously over the kitchen sink. "Don, come on! " Charlie whispered as loudly as he dared. He grabbed at Don's arm, but his brother moaned loudly and shook him off. "Stop it, Don! You'll wake up Mom and Dad!"

Don raised his head slightly. "Dad?"

"Yes, Dad!" Charlie whispered angrily. "If Dad wakes up and sees this we're both in big trouble! Now come on!"

"Doontell Dad Charlie," Don moaned.

"I won't tell Dad. Now come on!" Charlie growled, grabbing at Don's arm again.

"Thisis serious, Charlie! Doontell Dad!" Don said loudly, gripping the counter as if his life depended on it.

"I won't if you'll just come with me," Charlie replied.

Don turned his head and stared at Charlie with unfocused eyes. "You promise?"

"Yes, I promise," Charlie snapped. "Now let's go!"

"I can't I…I'm…" Don turned back to the sink and began to dry heave. In a burst of superhuman strength, Charlie pulled his much larger brother free from the counter and hustled him out of the kitchen. When they reached the bathroom he pushed Don inside and shut the door; from the safety of the other side, Charlie leaned in and listened in nervous anticipation. The awful dry heaving seemed to go on forever, leaving Charlie on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He knew that sometimes Dad had trouble sleeping, and he would come downstairs in the middle of the night to read or watch TV; every second he and Don spent here increased their chances of getting caught. Charlie closed his eyes and wished that Don to just puke and get it over with.

Almost as if the Puke Fairy had heard Charlie's pleas, Don erupted like a volcano. The sound of high-velocity vomiting was so loud that Charlie was sure it would wake up their parents; he pressed his body against the door, hoping to muffle the noise. Charlie had always thought that "puking your guts out" was just a figure of speech, but from what he was hearing he was now sure it was possible. The sounds of vomiting gradually gave way to some retching, and finally, silence. Charlie listened tensely for round two, but after a minute of uninterrupted silence he opened the bathroom door thinking that the worst was over, and all he had to do was get his brother upstairs and into bed.

Charlie was a certified genius, and was rarely wrong about anything; but at that moment he wasn't just wrong, he was more wrong than he had ever been, and would ever be for the rest of his life. He opened the door to a scene so horrific that it would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Don had painted the entire bathroom in a greenish-yellow shade of puke. It decorated the floor, the sink, part of the walls, and the bathtub. Ironically, the only thing that was spared from the onslaught was the toilet, which the artist of this grotesque piece of work was now hugging, arms wrapped around the base and head pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Holy Shit, Don! What the hell have you done? Are you insane? What is wrong with you?" Charlie cried, struggling to keep his hysterics in check as shock and panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"Dontell Dad," Don muttered.

That was the final straw.

"I don't have to tell Dad, because Dad's going to find when he comes downstairs tomorrow morning and sees you sleeping in your own puke!" Charlie snarled. "If you don't want that to happen you'd better get your drunk ass up and clean the bathroom yourself, because I'm done, do you understand? I'm fucking done!" Charlie spun around and stormed off to bed. He heard Don calling after him and tried to ignore it, but halfway up the stairs he gave in and went back. Don had managed to pick himself up off the floor and was now sitting on the toilet, his head in his hands. "Shut up, Don!" Charlie snapped. "I told you I'm done! If you keep yelling like that you're going to wake up Mom and Dad!"

Don's head shot up. "No! Charlie, Dad can't find out aboutthis. He'll kill me! He will honest to god kill me! You gotta help me! Pleeease!" He cried desperately.

All of his life Charlie had seen his older brother as a superhero, someone who was strong, confident, and not afraid of anything. That image bore no resemblance to the pathetic lump staring up at him with scared, pleading eyes, and it freaked him out. This wasn't right. _None _of this was right. Don wasn't supposed to be the scared and helpless brother, looking to him to make everything okay again. Charlie's brain screamed at him to run upstairs and go to bed; if he went to sleep now, when he woke up in the morning everything would be back to normal, and all of this will have been just a bad dream.

However, there was a tiny part of his brain that was still thinking rationally, and it accessed memories of all the times Don looked out for him, protected him, and stood up for him; from these images came a jolt of clarity much like the ones Charlie experienced after hours of puzzling out a difficult math equation, and at that moment all doubt drained from his body. He now knew what he had to do.

Charlie looked sternly at his brother. "All right, I'll help you, but you have to do exactly as I say, okay?" Don nodded. "Okay. Now, take off your shoes, pants, and shirt."

Don untied one shoe and attempted to remove it, nearly falling off the toilet seat in the process. Charlie grabbed Don's shoe and pulled it off in one yank, then untied the other shoe and pulled it off. The socks, jeans and tee shirt followed, leaving Don clad only in his novelty "Home of the Whopper" boxer shorts. After placing the puke-stained clothes and shoes in the bathtub, Charlie threw Don's arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet; the next eight minutes were a test of physical and mental strength as Charlie struggled to help his inebriated brother up the stairs and into his bedroom, freezing in fear every time he thought he'd heard his parents' bedroom door open. Finally Don was safely in bed, and a very relived Charlie quickly made his way downstairs to clean up.

Staring at the mess in the bathroom, Charlie suddenly realized that he had no idea what to do; housekeeping fell squarely into "mom territory." Pushing down his panic, he thought back to all of the times he'd seen his mother clean the bathroom, and within seconds he had mentally composed a list of sponges, paper towels, trash bags, and Mr. Clean. Charlie grabbed everything he needed from the laundry room, and spent the next hour painstakingly scrubbing and wiping every inch of the bathroom until not a trace of puke remained. That just left Don's shoes and clothes, which he had shoved into a trash bag right before he started cleaning. Charlie thought of putting them in the washing machine but quickly dismissed the idea; some things were too complicated even for a genius. He decided to let Don figure it out when he woke up and discovered the bag in his closet.

As a final touch, Charlie grabbed the aerosol air freshener from under the bathroom sink and sprayed with gusto, making sure to cover every inch of breathing space; when he was done, he took a deep breath and determined that the bathroom now smelled like flowery puke. Charlie checked his watch. It was almost 4 a.m. His parents wouldn't be up for at least four hours, plenty of time for the smell to dissipate. Or not. It didn't matter, because Charlie knew that he had done all that he could. After bringing the bulging trash bags to the outside garbage cans and putting away the cleaning supplies, Charlie grabbed the trash bag containing the puke-stained clothes and trudged upstairs to Don's room.

Don was just where Charlie had left him, sprawled across his bed in his underwear, only now he was snoring heavily. Charlie placed the trash bag in the closet and ran a mental checklist to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything; glancing over at Don, he suddenly realized that he had one more thing to do. He left the room and returned a couple of minutes later.

Even in his alcohol-induced sleep Don could sense that someone was standing over him, and awoke with a start. "Hey! Whaddaryo doin?" He slurred as his head shot up from the pillow.

"Um, I was just leaving you some water and aspirin," Charlie replied, indicating the glass and the two tablets on the nightstand. "You should take them now. You need to hydrate so that you won't have a killer hangover in the morning."

Don groggily grabbed the water and aspirin and quickly downed both of them. "That wassa good idea. Howdya think ofit?" He asked.

"Don't you remember? You taught me." Charlie grinned.

Don grinned back, his eyes lighting up a little. "I taught you something? I guess I'm notso dumb after all."

"Don, you're not dumb, you're-"

"Oh, please! Don't try to sugarcoat it. You're the genius, the one who's going to change the world. Ima big dumb jock whoz never gonna be anything."

Charlie sighed. He was much too tired to get into this, and Don wouldn't remember the conversation anyway. "You're right, Don. You're always right. Now go to bed."

"Yeah I'm always right…" Don trailed off as his head sunk back into the pillow.

"Goodnight Don," Charlie said. He turned out the lights and closed the door. Moments later he crawled into his own bed; as he drifted off to sleep he thought about how exhausting it was being responsible for another person, and for the first time in his life, he was glad to be the little brother.

...

"Okay, so maybe I asked you to keep a secret from time to time," Don huffed. "But that was a long time ago. Things have changed."

"Yes, they have," Charlie nodded. "Instead of asking me to lie to Dad about things like getting drunk, you have me lying about getting shot at."

"Hey, I never asked you to lie to Dad!" Don snapped. "I just-"

Suddenly the kitchen door swung open and the eldest Eppes walked into the room; Don immediately clammed up and drank from his empty coffee mug, while Charlie turned towards the sink and started doing the dishes.

"Good morning, boys," Alan said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing much," Don replied casually.

"Yeah, just cleaning up," Charlie quickly added.

"I see. And what were you talking about? Something about lying to your father?" Alan coolly responded, freezing his sons in their tracks. "Don't even try to deny it. Even if I hadn't heard you through the door, the way you both acted when I walked in spoke volumes."

"Dad…" Don began, but Alan quickly cut him off.

"Donnie, please, I went through this song and dance enough times when you two were kids," Alan huffed. "Always trying to put one over on your old man. Well, you're adults now, so you're entitled to your little secrets. I just want you both to know that you're not as good at hiding things from me as you think."

An awkward silence hung in the air as Alan prepared a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, and walked over to the kitchen table; setting down the glass, he let out a snort of disgust as he pushed aside some debris before sitting down to eat. Unable to bear his father's cold shoulder any longer, Charlie finally spoke up. "I'm really sorry about the mess Dad, I promise Don and I will clean it all up today."

"I certainly hope so," Alan snapped. "You boys were pretty loud and obnoxious last night. I hardly got any sleep. At least when you were kids you tried to keep your drunken antics a secret."

"You're one to talk," Charlie muttered. Too late he realized that he'd said that out loud, and he looked up to find both his father and brother looking at him.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Alan snapped.

"Um…well…it's just that…I remember that sometimes you and mom would come home from a party…a little drunk." Charlie stammered.

"What! I did no such thing!" Alan huffed.

"Come on Dad, we're all adults here," Don smirked. "Charlie, do you remember that Fourth of July when Mom and Dad went to the Henderson's, and left us home alone?"

Charlie's face suddenly lit up. "Yeah, I do!"

"Now wait just a minute!" Alan sputtered. "Your mother and I went to a lot of parties, but we were never drunk in front of you kids!"

"Charlie, should we jog the old man's memory?" Don smirked.

Charlie shot Alan a wicked grin. "Yes. Yes we should."

_**TBC… **_


End file.
